


Finders, Keepers

by QuillerQueen



Series: Love As the Moon Loves [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, F/M, Work Up For Adoption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 05:35:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20773388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: One of the many adventures of Queenie Regina and Robin of Locksley, inspired by a gorgeous manip by @CarolinaMR9.





	Finders, Keepers

_ _

_ Inspired by [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dh0lLdTWsAEOMhi.jpg) gorgeous manip by @[CarolinaMR9](https://twitter.com/CarolinaMR9). _

* * *

He’s never seen her quite like this before.

Regina is, well, hot-tempered. Like fire and ice, quick to anger as she is to icy resentment. Volatile. Especially today, especially after Robin’s gotten them stuck (not that he’d admit it out loud) at this godforsaken place, this dilapidated, overgrown manor with its stuffy, mouldy rooms, threadbare carpets, moth-eaten drapes, and shabby, beaten furniture, and, tragically though predictably, empty larder.

Yet when he returns from his foraging quest, he finds her transformed in ways he can't fathom.

She's sitting in a battered armchair with her back to the crackling fire, not a trace of tension left in the curve of her neck and shoulders. A crude plaid shawl hugs her back, and folds of fabric fall to the ground at her feet—an old, dusty gown she’d sworn barely an hour earlier she  _ wouldn’t be caught dead in _ . She’s very much alive though, brighter somehow that the flames illuminating her silhouette as she continues to coo softly, either unaware of or unbothered by Robin’s reappearance. Her quiet chuckle trickles and drips like honey—sweet, golden, thick with emotion.

The foundling gurgles in response, safe and snug in its blanket—safer now, snuggled in Regina’s arms.

The storm outside the draughty windows has stilled, much like Regina’s tempestuous temper.

She looks...settled. Soft. Overwhelmingly, inconceivably so.

They are not soft.

Soft has never been part of the deal. They're impulsive and adventurous, bold and passionate, rough around the edges even when giving their love free rein. He loves her, that much is true—and she, him. They've been…tender, with each other. They're learning to be. Learning to not fear retaliation or betrayal, relearning that love isn't weakness. They're getting better at affection, he thinks—he's trying, for her sake and his own. Their edges aren't quite as sharp as they used to be.

And Regina, for all her fire, all her might, can be gentle. He knows this, stands in awe of it every time, mesmerised that he should be on the receiving end of such a marvel. And he, Robin of Locksley, can be gentle, too. For her, he can—like whenever her eyes go glossy at the memory of a son in a far-away realm. They can be gentle, but this…

This is something else entirely.

“Someone’s left her on the doorstep,” Regina whispers, “after we’d arrived.”

Robin is speechless, staring at the image before him, hypnotised by the way Regina adjusts her hold on the bundle, hands locked now in an unspoken oath, a promise to protect that seems to finally rock the little thing to sleep.

When Regina glances up at him, he reads it in her eyes—the babe’s coming home with them.

Perhaps he should be upset. Perhaps he should argue, or refuse flat out. Perhaps, at the very least, he should object to having been left out of such a tremendous decision. But he isn’t really, is he? He’s a choice here. She’s made hers, and by heaven, he can’t dispute the rightness of it. Not upon seeing them like this. They just...fit.

Where does he, Robin, fit in this picture?

He’s not cut out to be a father, that much he’s always known.

Then again, he’s also never thought himself capable of entrusting his heart to someone, of feeling as strongly, loving as robustly as he does Regina.

Doesn’t the very question he’s asking himself mean he’s already decided, in his heart of hearts? He’s not wondering whether or not he fits—he’s only unsure of where and how. He thinks—he knows—he wants to  _ be  _ in the picture.

His legs shake with the weight of the moment as he steps closer and kneels beside the armchair.

His fingers tremble as he reaches for her—for Regina with one hand, for the babe with the other, cupping their heads with a barely-there touch for fear that they, or this, might break...or perhaps for fear that he might.

When she smiles with the brightness of a thousand suns, his heart quivers giddily

_ Ready _ , it says,  _ for this new adventure _ .


End file.
